A Spell In Scarlet
by elovs
Summary: The first two chapters of the classic Sherlock Holmes story, A Study In Scarlet, redone in the universe of Harry Potter during the late 1800s. Also, Sherlock is a woman.


CHAPTER ONE

SHERLOCK HOLMES

In the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Potion Chemistry within the Ministry of Magic, and proceeded to Netley to go through the course prescribed for healers who was going to aid the muggles in the Indian army. Having completed my training there, I was duly attached to the Fifth Wizardry Relief Group as Assistant Healer. My group and I were appointed to aid the Muggle army stationed in India at the time, and before I could join it, the second Afghan Muggle war had broken out. We flew by broom to Bombay, where we learned that the muggles had left their stations, and were already deep in their enemy's country. We followed them, however, and succeeded in getting them to Candahar in safety.

According to the muggles, their campaign brought honours and promotion to many, but for my fellow wizards and myself it was nothing but hard work and nuisance to keep them out of harm's way. During the battle, while I fought to keep the muggles safe, I was struck on the shoulder by a bullet from a muggle handgun, which shattered the bone and grazed the subclavian artery. My fellow, Murray, aided me by casting a quick spell sealing the injury and resetting the bone. Unfortunately, something I would learn later on, due to the haste of this action, the bones did not heal properly and my arm would be slightly impaired from that day forth. He then threw me across his broom, and succeeded in bringing me safely to the muggle's camp.

The healing of the injury was painful and prolonged, and due to its improper healing my spellcasting skills were faltered and I was removed from the relief group. I was spent back to England, and because of my injury I too weary to fly, so I had to travel along with the muggles by a commercial ship. I was not used to the slow transportation of the muggles, but was still rather content with having time to process my experiences and relax before returning to England. Another result of this event, was that I was dispatched from my previous duty as an Assistant Healer, and instead I was committed to a new post as a Potions Registration Assistant by a desk in a small office in the Ministry.

The change of my duties had an effect on my weekly income for the worse, something that rather immidiate had me realise that my style of life had to change. I found myself standing by a crossroad in my life, and faced with a choice to either leave London, my home since I graduated from Hogwarts, or change the standards of my living quarters. The choice was wasy, I couldn't bear to leave London.

With my decision to stay in London made, I went to the Leaky Laudron, which was packed with people.

"One butterbeer please!" I politely asked the old witch behind the bar. As she reached for my money a glass soared out of the shelf, made a swirl in the air and then filled it self up with the butterbeer.

In a moment shorter than the one it took me to raise the glass to my lips and take a sip of the beverage, a man tapped me on the shoulder. As I turned around I recognized young Stamford.

"Watson! How lovely to see you my olf friend! I heard about Afganistan, dreadful buisness indeed. How are you assimiliating to your new post at the Ministry?"

"Well, it is quite different from the duties of the Relief Group, I must say. And to speak the honest truth, I have trouble getting used to the different pace of an office post. Also, my income has undergone major changes as well, and I am right now searching for different lodgings and am exploring the possibilities to get comfortable rooms at a reasonable price."

"Poor devil!" Stamford exclaimed, his features lined with worried lines as he listened to my misfortunes. "That is a strange thing, however, you are the second one today that has used that expression to me."

"Is that so?" I replied with my eyebrows raised with interest. "Who was the first?"

Stamford smirked before replying, so swiftly that I wasn't sure I'd seen it. "It is an associate of mine who has regular business with the Ministry's office. The comrade was complaining about the high rents of the suburban housing, and was looking for someone to share the cost of some nice rooms."

"By Merlin's beard!" I cried. "I would sure like to meet this fellow of yours!"

"I would think this a good idea. I think that the match of yourself and Sherlock Holmes would be an interesting one." Stamford pulls out a small golden pocket watch and glances at the five ticking hands of the watch. "Actually, there's a trial going on at the Ministry as we speak, and if we hurry I think we'll be able to catch Holmes there. Holmes is a confirmed enthusiast of the workings of the law and rarely misses a trial when they are conducted."

"Ah, how most fortunate and remarkable!" I exclaimed, slapping my hands together. "You must let us meet."

By that we decided to go and try to find this friend of his. It was a fine London weather that day - that is, not rain pouring down - so we decided to walk back to the Ministry. So, side by side we strolled down the streets of the buzzing capital, us ignoring the stressed muggles scampering up and down the street, annoyed pushing past us as they frowned at our comfortable pace. We idly conversed, as the two old friends that we were, about this and that, before landing on the subject of my hopefully future roommate.

"I must, however, warn you, Watson", Stamform said warily, and brushed by his hat, "Holmes is a peculiar character that does not easily see eye to eye with others. You must not deprecate me if you find that you don't get along."

"Now, why would I ever do such a thing?" I asked, perplexed by his exculpatory words. "Not all men are meant to be friends, and if we should find us a bad match it wouldn't be too hard to part again."

Stamford only nodded at this, and we continued on our path, now sighting the entrance to the Ministry. Next to the big white building which held several offices of the muggle's government, was a very small pub, with a rickety wooden sign over the door with letters that spelled ' _T e Ol Mut_ ' with several letters missing. The windows of the pub were dusty and half covered in newspapers, making people outside think it was closed. But, nonetheless, Stamford and myself opened the slanted door, which swung open with a loud creak, and entered the pub. The inside of the pub was just as dusty and seemingly closed as the outside, with the most of the furniture broken and tattered, and the lanterns sitting on the walls unlit. Behind the bar, on one of the few whole chairs, sat a podgy man with a ratcoloured beard and ruffled moustage, reading a week-old newspaper. He looked up at us with shady eyes as we entered, making sure we weren't muggles, and nodded as he recognised us as employees of the Ministry, turning back to his newspaper. He was reading an article under a moving portrait of a grim-faced prisoner dressed in a striped uniform, staring coldly onto the reader. I cast a glance on the paper as we past him, and for a moment my gaze met the one of the prisoner, and I could see a sly smirk on his lips before turning away.

I followed Stamford through the kitchen door of the pub, but instead of entering a kitchen, we were faced with a large fire place. Without hesitation Stamford dipped his hand in a pot of something that to an unknowing eye would seem as grey ash, and stepped into the fireplace. He turned around and winked at me before throwing the ash towards his feet, and was swallowed by an intense green flame. I quickly followed my friend's example, and a few moments later we both stepped out onto the black marble floor of the entrance hall of the Ministry. We walked over to the lifts and I pushed my finger against the button, summoning it. The mechanical lift was still a fairly modern invention among the muggles, but the magical version had been used for a long time, and we used to snigger secretely when the muggles spoke about it with awe and pride.

The lift brought us down to the tenth level of the ministry, where the courtrooms were located, and just as we stepped out of the lift a group of people poured out of an open door further down the hall. They were chatting to eachother with lowered voices, apparently discussing the trial they had just witnessed. Some seemed content with the outcome, others seemed a little more displeased. As is standard when it comes to trials, I suppose.

"Ah, there I spot Holmes now", Stamford said and I followed the man through the pack of people who were moving towards the lifts.

As we walked past the door to the courtroom, three people emerged from within. I recognised two of them as Aurors, and between them a man walked with short stepts due to the chain locking his ancles together. I looked at him quickly, and met the same pair of eyes as I had met only minutes before from the newspaper. The samle wry smile was directed at me, and I couldn't help but shudder.

My unease was however cut short, as Stamford placed a hand on my shoulder, turning my attention away from the prisoner. "Ah, Holmes, how very fine to meet you again. Meet my dear friend and colleague, Mr. Watson."

I looked around, and found myself standing eye to eye with a tall, tan-haired woman with big, interested grey eyes meeting mine. My jaw dropped slightly with surprise, before I gathered myself enough to grasp the extended hand before me.

"Mr. Watson, huh?" she asked with a crooked smile and an unusually hoarse voice for a woman. "I'm Sherlock Holmes, that I, however, am sure you already are informed of. How was your time in Afghanistan then?"

I raised my eyebrows with puzzled surprise. "I'm sorry, have we meet before?"

"Oh, not of my recollections, Mr. Watson", she said vaguely, seemingly distracted by the surrounding men in the narrow hall.

"Then how on Earth did you know I've been in Afghanistan?"

The woman smiled again, meeting my eyes with a knowing spark. "Well, for one thing, you just confirmed it. But never mind that now!" she dismissed, and turned her gaze to a man standing almost behind me, talking to one of the jury members wearing a deep crimson cloak. "Will you excuse me, gentlemen, for a moment." She brushed past us, and both of us turned after her.

As the woman swept over to the two men with confident steps, I leaned closer to Stamford, whom had been grinning the whole time during my chat with Holmes. "How ever could she know about my time abroad?"

Stamford only shook his head and his grin grew wider. "Just one of the many peculiarities of that woman, my friend."

I arched an eyebrow and glanced at my contented friend. "Oh!, a mystery is it? Well, this should be interesting then. 'A proper study of wizardkind is wizard', you know? Or witch", I added with a blush.

Stamford chuckled in a low voice. "Indeed, dear fellow. Tread gently, though. That particular witch has more than the eye can see, I assure you."

"Indeed", I muttered under my breath, and watched Holmes finish her chat with the two men and turning back to us.

"Most fascinating case, I'd must say", she said excitedly, her eyes sparking with enthusiasm. "Of course, it didn't take much effort to figure out how the guilty person of the case was. The oaf had left footprints all over the hallway outside the crimescene. When I had pointed them out to the bloodhounds of the Aurors and directed them in the right path, it didn't last long until they had their wizard." She pursed her lips in a satisfied smirk.

"You assists the Auror department then? Surely you are employed by the Ministry? How long have you been working for them?" I asked eagerly, impressed by the obvious intellegence of the witch.

But to my utter surprise, Holmes only laughed loudly at this proposal. "Ha! They should wish as much! No, my dear Watson, I find the establishment of the Ministry much too simpleminded and restricted for my tastes. I prefere to lead my own life as I so wish."

"S-simpleminded?" I started to stutter, shocked by the words I had never heard to explain the Ministry of Magic, but Holmes' mind had already moved on.

"Now, what is the purpose of you seeking me out?" she briskly wondered, looking from me to Stamford.

Stamford didn't seem as affected by her way as myself, and squeezed my shoulder. "Mr. Watson here informed me that he also seeks someone to share quarters with. 'Comfortable rooms at reasonable price', I think it was. Correct, Watson?"

I blinked, and nodded dumbfoundedly. "Yes. Yes, that is correct."

Holmes eyes widened with pleasure, and she slapped her glove clad hands together. "Splendid! Let's walk", she proposed and strolled towards the lifts, blatantly expecting us to follow, which we indeed did. "Well, I have found a place in Baker Street which should comfortably suit us both. You don't mind the smell of strong tobacco, I hope?" She glanced at me questionly.

"No", I said, once again surprised by the young female. "I smoke myself."

"Good fellow", she nodded, and narrowed her eyes as she pondered what else would be of importance in the matter of our charing of quarters, "I have often people seeking me out to aid them with different cases, at all hours of day and night, so there might be people in and out. Although, it is a rather rare occasion for someone to come during night time. But I am still often awake during the dark hours, I find that the workings of my mind runs a little smoother while in the darkness and stillness of the midnight hour. So what are your shortcomings? I think it's better that we know the worse of eachother beforehand, instead of getting nasty surprises after."

I had to chuckle at this, both out of amusement and agreement. "Well, I have no problem with you being awake at night, since I myself get up at all sorts of ungodly hours. I, however, object to loud noise and racket due to uneasy nerves."

"Do you count violin-playing as noise and racket?" she asked with a raised brow.

"That depends on the player", I replyed. "A well-played violin is a treat for the gods, but a badly-played one…"

"Alright, then", Holmes interrupted, waving her hand, and laughed. "That shouldn't be a problem then. Shall we see the matter as settled then? That is, if the flat is acceptable to you. Do you wish to go inspect it right away?"

We had now reached the entrance hall again, and I was about to agree immediately, when a though occurred to me, and I glanced at my pocket watch. "Oh, unfortunately I am unavailable right now. I'm supposed to have a meeting this afternoon. How about tomorrow? At noon?"

"Perfect", she smiled and clasped my hand with her strong grip. "Noon exactly. Meet me outside the flat building. The address is Baker Street 211B."

I nodded and we said our goodbyes, before Holmes turned on her heel and strode away towards the exit fireplaces. Stamford and I were left standing in the middle of hurrying Ministry employees, both struck by the experience that was Sherlock Holmes.

CHAPTER TWO

THE SCIENCE OF DEDUCTION

The next day I was to meet up with Sherlock Holmes as planned. I felt quite excited about our meeting to my own surprise. Not in the way you feel excited about meeting a lady of your taste I mean, more like a person you find so very strange but still very intresting that you want to know more about them. When I arrived at Baker street 211, I found out that there where no Baker street 211B only a Baker street 211. I didn't get much further before Sherlock appeared in front of me.

"Watson! Right on time."

I made an attempt to shake her hand in a proper greeting, but before I had time to speak, she had already turned away and faced the building instead. She took out her wand and swung it lightly. The buildings of number 211 and 213 started to push aside, making room for another building appearing between them, with the number 211B written clearly beside the main gate.

I watched the magic occur in awe, and shook my head with amusement. "It never ceases to amaze me how little the muggles notice in their environment."

Holmes sniffed scoffingly while we entered the gate and walked up the steps to the flat. "Those nitwits wouldn't notice their own nose disappearing if it wasn't attached to them."

Together we inspected the rooms at 211B Baker street. The flat felt nice, with a set of good bedrooms, a large sitting-room and with big windows. I moved all my belongings from the hotel to the new flat that same evening and Sherlock joined me the next morning. After a couple of days I had started to realize that my new roommate wasn't to hard to get along with. Sherlock wasn't much for complicated magic, just the convenient one, just like myself. She wasn't a messy person, just like myself. She kept for herself mostly and didn't care to much about maintaining a social life surrounded by more people than you need in your life, just like myself. Sherlock spend her days sometimes at the Ministry, sometimes she just left the flat without informing me where to, but most of the time she spent in our rooms. Sometimes I found her at home in the sitting-room, she often stood by the window levetating an object with her wand, and when she did this she was so deep in her thoughts that it was impossible to communicate with her. I had no idea what she was thinking of in these moments, but I suppose she was just obsessed with her own thoughts. She continued to to this until she suddenly got a vision of some sort, which where followed by her leaving the apartment quicker than you could say Quidditch.

As time passed I felt how my interest in her grew bigger. Not in any other way than that she was different from any other wizard or witch I had ever crossed paths with before. She was utterly well-read, and when she set her mind on something, she did persist until she had succeded. Her ignorance was as remarkable as her knowledge, though. She was completely ignorant of politics, the workings of the Ministry, and the muggles made no impression on her what so ever. She might find the muggle world insteresting if there was a crime that might had to do with the magical world. This one time she explained her lack of interest of these things to me:

"You see", she explained, "I consider the brain originally like a little empty cauldron, and you have to stock it with things you find useful. A fool takes in allt the lumber of every sort that he comes across, so that the knowledge that might be useful for her gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things so that she has a difficulty in laying her hand upon it. Now the skilful wizard or witch is very careful indeed as to what she takes in to her brain-cauldron. She will have nothing but the tools which may help her in doing her work but of these she has a large assortment, and all in the perfect order. It is a mistake to think that that little cauldron has elastic walls that can extend to any extent. Depend upon that it comes a time when for every addition of knowledge you forget something you knew before. It is of the highest importance, therefore, not to have useless facts elbowing out the useful ones."

After conversations like this I wanted to ask Sherlock about her work, the work that occupied her thoughts so many hours of the week. She wasn't an Auror, she wasn't even employeed by the Ministry, but she sure seemed heavily envolved in the Ministry's business. But since Sherlock had given me the impression that work wasn't something she wanted to discuss with me, I held my tongue.

After quite some time living together, I started to notice the fact that Sherlock didn't possess a wide circle of social relations. Though, she did indeed have many business-acquaintances, which where in the most different classes of society. A man called Lestrade came by as much as three or four times a week to speak with Sherlock. I knew he worked for the Ministry, as an Auror at the department of Magical Law Enforcement. However, Lestrade wasn't the only one to visit Sherlock, both witches and wizards of all kinds came to the flat. When ever one of these persons came to visit, Sherlock would ask me if she could use the sitting-room. She always apoligized:

"My dear Watson, I do apoligize. I need to use this room as a place of business, these people are my clients."

Still I wanted to ask her about what this business of hers might be, but I knew I wouldn't get much out of it. One time I gathered enough courage to ask her straight on, and she told me that she called herself a consulting detective.

"A consulting detective?" I said to Sherlock, who looked at me irritated about me repeating her words.

"Yes, a consulting detective. Sometimes when the Aurors back at the Ministry get stuck with a case they just lay all the evidence out for me and I solve the mystery for them. Simple as that"

"So you _are_ kind of an Auror?"

"To be an Auror means that you are employed by the Ministry, which I am not, and never will be. So no, my dear Watson, I am not an Auror."

"So that is why Lestrade comes here then? You are helping him and the other Aurors?" I noticed Sherlock glanced at me as she stood by the window. It was almost as she was surprised by my observation of Lestrade.

"Exactly."

"And what about all the other people who comes over to visit you?"

"Oh, they are just wizards and witches who needs my help. They might have put themselves in a bad situation and just needs me to listen to their story and enlighten them, one might call it."

"And they pay you for this?" I asked, fascinated how my companion suddenly shared her business with me for the first time.

"Well, of course they do."

"So you take money from the Ministry, for helping them with cases and then you take money from people who might want help to avoid the Ministry?" I noticed how my observation ability surprised Sherlock yet again.

"I would be careful to study the people who come to see me more closely if I were you", Sherlock said as she looked out the window.

I felt like it wasn't the time to ask more questions in the matter. Instead I swiftly changed the subject, turning back to something that had pondered my mind since the day we first met.

"Speaking of this ability to observe of yours, I must ask how on Earth did you know I had been to Afghanistan recently? Surely you must've been told."

"Nothing of the sort", Sherlock objected. "Right when I first spotted you in the hallway, I could immediately see that you were an academic. But also that you had your fair share of experience with war and battle. I assumed from this knowledge that you had been a healer abroad, apparently from southern territories, due to your darkened skin. Your arm have been impaired, so you have seen hardship and fighting. I can see that you have recently lost a fair amount of weight, probably after a long journey and a decreased income during the last few months. All of these clues led me to the conclusion that you must have been to Afghanistan, the only place where the muggles are currently quarrelling, and that would fulfill all these factors." Sherlock smirked after finishing her detailed explaination of her analysis of myself, leaned back in her chair and lit a pipe billowing out smoke into the soft light of the room, swirling in the dusty ray of sunlight coming in through the window. "You see, Mr. Watson, my mind works in a much higher pace than of most, and I am not used to putting my thoughts into words like this. One could at first think that my mind skips right to the conclusion without taking the needed steps in between, but they do indeed exist."

I frowned at this comment, and turned to look out the window. I was properly impressed by the undeniable intellect of the witch, but she did certainly think highly of herself. As I studied the street and the people passing on it, I noted an individual looking rather misplaced among the muggles. A man with ruffled hair and a big, ragged grey coat, looking a lot like a boulder standing on the sidewalk, with the muggles rushing past, throwing frightened glances at him as they passed.

"I wonder what that fellow might be looking for?" I thought out loud, not really expecting an answer.

"You mean the gentleman half-giant hiding a goblin under that big coat of his?" Sherlock asked politely as he as well approached the window.

I glanced at my companion with a raised eyebrow and a startled face. When I turned back to the street the half-giant seemed to talk with his coat and the moment after he pulled out his wand from his coat pocket and pointed it towards the house. With our house called forth the giant man approached the stairs, and soon we heared heavy steps outside our door. A loud knock on the wooden front door made Sherlock swing her wand, making the door open and reveal the big body filling the opening.

The half giant entered the flat, and without introducing himself he pulled open his coat. Inside, sitting in one of the pockets, were a small goblin with a sour face. The goblin jumped out of the pocket and landed on the floor in front of our feet. "For Miss Sherlock Holmes", the goblin snapped impatiently, reaching out an envelope towards my roommate.

My surprise had me staring at the goblin with an open mouth, and the goblin's small, beetle black eyes met mine. The goblin then huffed with offence and rather lithely jumped back into the giant's pocket. With a command from the little creature, the half giant nodded at us, turned on his heel and left. I turned to my companion who sneered at me with content and opened the envelope.


End file.
